This is the scene that I came home to yesterday. Our *neighbour (who runs a carpet cleaning company) was just leaving. He was giving me some aftercare instructions which I can’t remember and then said to me something about wearing slippers as the carpet was a bit damp. He then looked at me hard, and stopped.
But of course you don’t wear slippers he said
I half-started a mumble about the boots I had on being my notional slippers, but as I had just returned from a dog walk in them and they were sopping wet I shut up.
In my mind, I was throroughly damned.
*Our street is stuffed full of lovely and useful people: a chippy, a hairdresser, a butcher, a publican, an imam, a youth worker, artists, a GP, a childminder and of course yer man who has done a great job on what was probably a very filthy carpet.